Sounds like a Tuesday
by LaughingTiger
Summary: Join the merry band of misfits on a night where no-one dies, Isabela takes a stab at storytelling, Carver is scandalized, and clever observation might reveal more than expected in a game of 'never have I ever'.


"The room was hot and vile," Isabela began her tale, pausing to shoot the jigger of liquor in front of her. The cup rang empty on the table, and she continued, "and I couldn't decide if I'd lost a fight or just had a really good tumble. Either way, clearly a lot of rum had been involved.

"Then I remembered; not rum, Antivan brandy. The daylight shining through the window indicated late afternoon, not morning, and no wonder, the memories filtering through the haze of liquor told me I'd still been drinking at dawn. I carefully sat up and disentangled myself from the bed's other occupant. No, I realized, _occupants_. I couldn't help but smile as the memories trickled back to me.

"But my head was pounding, and there was a drink of... something– it was green– left in a bottle on the night stand. I killed the last slug of a bottle of apsenthium I didn't even remember, and tossed the bottle on a pile of someone's clothing. It was definitely rough without the customary measure of water, but I felt better already.

"The room was a disaster, and I nearly woke the couple up as I shuffled through the clothing strewn about the room, gathering familiar articles. Boots, stockings, smalls... Closer inspection revealed that _someone_ had been very impatient to remove my undergarments; they were torn practically to pieces, so I left that. I found my tunic caught on a nail in the window sill, waving at the street like a flag. But pants? No sign of them. Not even in the street. I searched the room again, but, alas, still no sign of my pants.

"The couple was beginning to stir, so I put on my few remaining articles of clothing, cinching the bodice of my tunic on the way out the door. My pants were _always_ doing this to me, and I have to say I was more than fed up with it.

"Luckily, the tunic covered _some_ of my ass, but the lack of undergarments under the short tunic made me fear a gust of wind or..." The former pirate paused and smiled, "Catcalls. Oh shit, I thought, approaching the flight of stairs back to the common room. My appearance had been noted. At first, only the table closest the stairs took notice, but the catcalls, whistles and lewd suggestions spread through the rest of the tavern faster than its wenches spread their legs for a handful of silver.

"And when the morning starts out like that, the only thing to do is roll with it or you'll get old very fast. So I turned my back to the crowd and bent to adjust my bootstrap. The common room erupted with applause, maybe a few shocked gasps, but who cares about uptight prudes, anyway? At the foot of the stairs, the other boot proved in need of adjustment, and if the room got a look down my tunic, well, their fault for looking, right? I took my usual place at the bar and shouted, "Now, who's going to buy me a drink?" By the time the sun set, I'd decided losing my pants– again– was a good thing.

"That was the last pair I ever owned, and I still don't know what happened to them. Probably threw them out the window in a fit of passion. And that had to have been the ninth or tenth pair I'd lost in a month. Who can keep up with that kind of expense? Probably made up for it though, I didn't spend a copper on drinks for a week. A very thirsty week," Isabela concluded with a satisfied smirk.

"Well." Hawke knocked back a shot before continuing. "I didn't think you'd actually have a good reason. A couple, though? How'd that happen? Were they _actually_ a couple, or just two people?"

"Oh, they were a couple. Newlyweds." Isabela rolled her eyes. "They were having some troubles so they went out 'shopping' together. He said _she_ didn't know how to..." Isabela pantomimed something crude and, frankly, confusing to Hawke, who was certainly no innocent. "And she said _he_ didn't know what to do with..." Another baffling gesture, and Isabela chuckled. "Can you believe it?"

"Uh. Not at all. Shocking." Another shot helped. Hawke suddenly had a sense that bedding Isabela could have turned out to be a much more _adventurous_ prospect than it actually had turned out to be. "So, free drinks for a week and you swear off pants for life?"

"Absolutely. They're _nothing _but trouble." Isabela said with conviction. She leaned forward, practically crawling onto the table, "Take yours, for instance..."

Hawke nearly choked on the liquor, "Hold on, now, the rest of the crew will be here any moment and Varric just ran downstairs for a moment."

"Varric's romance serials have been getting predictable, I think he needs some new material."

The dwarf appeared in the doorway with a tray holding two pitchers of ale and a handful of tankards. Carver nearly pounced on him."Thank the Maker you're back," he choked out, "I need that drink." Carver had been sitting quietly at the end of the long table, apparently forgotten by Hawke and Isabela, and was too horrified to remind them of his presence.

Varric raised an eyebrow, but otherwise ignored the Templar. "That's a harsh criticism, Rivaini. I was told by one fan that the last installment was 'divinely sordid' and several others used the words 'inspired' and 'genius.' And Hawke knows what will happen if I have to sanitize this table because _you_ two defiled it." Isabela sat back down and pouted.

"Do I?" Hawke tried to remember any conversation that might shed some light on the dwarf's claim, but drew a blank. Knowing Varric, he'd just write about the episode and 'forget' to change enough details to protect anyone's identity. "Oh, Maker, it doesn't matter. Isabela was just telling me a story, we weren't going to _defile_ your precious little table. My baby brother's over-reacting, as usual."

Carver fumed. "Over-reacting? Half of Kirkwall knows what you get up to but, making your brother watch is just... perverse."

Hawke sniffed. "Being a Templar, I would have thought you'd be grateful. Closest you'll ever get. Anyway, you should know I'd never do that kind of thing in front of Archu. You have to show a mabari hound the proper respect, after all."

Varric cleared his throat, cutting off Carver's inevitable indignant response. "Just as long as everyone knows the table is off-limits. It's an heirloom. I swear, no one would believe the hazards I face by playing host to the infamous Hawke and company." Isabela hid a smirk by taking a pull from the tankard of ale in front of her. Varric shook his head and began setting out more mugs and a pack of cards.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of Fenris and Aveline. Greetings were exchanged and Aveline took a seat next to Hawk, while Fenris headed for a seat next to Isabela.

As he rounded the corner, the elf stumbled, stubbing his toes on the table leg. "Venhedis! Varric, I get banged up on this thing every time I come over, and I'm not the only one, I've seen it happen to Hawke more than once, as well. You've got to get some _normal_ furniture."

Isabela burst out laughing, and Hawke struggled to keep a snicker from turning into something more. Varric chuckled and shook his head. "Broody, you've just become the guest character of my next chapter. You and the table. I'll have to spice it up, though. Maybe give it some kind of title." Varric rubbed his chin and regarded the table thoughtfully.

"Oh, who's getting a title?" Merrill entered with Anders on her heels. "Wait, let me guess. It's Archu, this time, isn't it?"

"Experience would suggest it's Hawke," Anders countered as he choose a seat. "Again. And it probably comes with invitations to fancy parties and a large cash award, as usual." Anders failed to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Hawke frowned, but didn't verbally acknowledge the other mage. "Don't bother with a ridiculous title, just write about how I cursed it. A couple of desire and hunger demons should spice up your serial."

Merrell was distressed, "Hawke, he can't write about that. Everyone knows most of Varric's stories are about _you_, even if he does change the name and some details. What if the Templars... uh." She glanced almost sheepishly at Carver. "Well, normally I think that would be a problem. Wait, you didn't really?" She ran a hand over the table and leaned close, apparently listening to the wood.

"I wouldn't be surprised" Fenris rumbled. Anders looked about to agree, but checked himself, unwilling to agree with Fenris on anything.

Aveline glared at Fenris and Anders. "Don't be such idiots! Hawke may do a lot of foolish things, but blood magic... Never." The guardswoman folded her arms over her chest and looked utterly immovable.

"You think too much of me, Aveline." Hawke tossed back another shot. "There _is _a difference between dealing with demons and blood magic, you know. The terms aren't interchangeable."

Isabela idly twisted a lock of hair around her finger. "Well, it would finally explain some of the things that happen around this table. We're being influenced by Hawke's demons. Nothing but helpless thralls." She smirked, knocked back the last swig of ale in her tankard and thunked it back onto the table. "Oh, my, I think one's got me..." The pirate woman swooned, somehow ending up in Fenris's lap. Her arms snaked around his neck and her lips locked over his.

The gathering watched for a shocked moment. When Hawke started laughing, Fenris finally regained his wits and shoved Isabela away. "Fasta vass, get off me, woman!" The blushing elf shot an almost furtive look around the table, and glared darkly in Hawke's direction.

Aveline was horrified, "Maker, I _never_ needed to see that. What kind of undergarments do you call those, Whore? Why can't you just wear pants like a normal person?"

Isabela made a rude gesture in Aveline's general direction, but kept her focus on the flustered elf. "Oh, it was the demon. Blame Hawke, I was powerless." She attempted a pout, but was far to pleased with herself to sell it.

Fenris shoved her back into her own seat and scooted his chair away from her. "Believe me, I do." The elf warrior glowered at Hawke and tried desperately to compose himself.

Hawke's laughter, as usual, inspired the same in the others. When the giggles subsided, Hawke tapped the deck of cards. "Will someone kindly deal, already? Unless everyone simply wants to hand me their money and flee the presence of the table abomination?"

Varric grinned and reached for the cards, Hawke must already be half-drunk to make such an obvious oversight. "It would be my pleasure to deal. I have a feeling you won't be walking away from this night with a coin in your pocket. In fact, you'll be lucky if I leave you the clothes on your back, my friend. Sending you packing back to Hightown in your smalls would be quite satisfying."

Hawke's surprise and horror at what had almost been allowed to happen inspired a dive across the table, upsetting more than one cup. "Oh, no, you don't! I'm not _that_ drunk yet." The cards were out of the dwarf's hands in a heartbeat, and Hawke offered them to Aveline. "Would you please do the honors, so this sneaky bastard doesn't cheat us all before we've had our fun?"

"Why is it you assume_ I _don't know how to cheat, Hawke? Just because I'm Guard Captain and the only law abiding citizen at this table?" Aveline smiled and began shuffling the deck.

Carver cleared his throat. And Isabela mumbled, "Who could cheat with hands like that?" into her mug.

Hawke looked around, "Well, there's Carver, but he's an ass and he'd cheat if he knew how." Carver looked ready to throw a punch, but Hawke was oblivious. "And where is _Prince Vale_ anyway? Did I forget to invite him again?"

On queue, Sebastian appeared in the doorway. "Do you often forget to invite me, Hawke?"

Hawke smiled winningly, "Of course not, you're invited to all our social outings, except on the rare occasion I forget to visit the Chantry while planning a night of drinking and carousing. Well actually, I _always_ forget to invite you to 'Thursdays'. That's when we have orgies and perform blood sacrifice to quell the demons I foolishly bound to Varric's table. It just doesn't seem like your scene. But then, a few years ago, drinks and Wicked Grace wouldn't have been your cup of tea, either." The mage fixed Sebastian with a piercing gaze. "So, are you busy Thursday?"

Sebastian looked slightly horrified. "Hawke, joking about such things is in very poor taste."

"Of course it is." Hawke grinned devilishly, "But, tell me honestly, you'd sulk if I_ didn't_ invite you, wouldn't you?"

Before Sebastian could muster an answer, Anders shook his head disapprovingly. "Hawke, how can you even joke about blood magic and demons? Everyone knows you– you're the Deep Roads explorer who made a fortune and bought your family back into Hightown. Everyone watches you, and whether they admit it or not, everyone _knows_ you're a mage. Even your closest friends _don't_ seem to know that you're joking. What kind of damage are you doing to the image of all mages by this bloody nonsense?"

"Oh, void, here we go again." Hawke took a long pull directly from the bottle standing amid the tankards and jiggers on the table. "Look to yourself, Anders. Now someone shut him up before I do it myself."

Merrill tapped the table and reached a conclusion. "You know, I'm pretty sure it_ doesn't_ have a spirit bound to it. But they can be very tricky..." She regarded the table doubtfully.

Isabela ran her hand over the smooth table top. "You could bind _me_ to this table, Hawke. It seems nice. No splinters and it's sturdy."

Merrill looked confused. "Why would Hawke bind_ you_ to the table, Isabela? You're not any kind of spirit."

"She could probably pass for a desire demon. Or maybe she's perpetually in thrall of one." Aveline appeared to be addressing her ale.

A vicious grin spread over Fenris's face. "I'm not surprised the witch has no trouble telling the difference."

Anders shook his head, "I would have expected familiarity with pride demons, actually. Isn't that what you've had dealings with about that accursed mirror, Merrill?"

"It's a spirit, not a demon. You, of all people, should understand the difference, Anders." Merrill's voice was small but her tone was confident.

Hawke dipped a finger into an untouched tankard of ale and flicked the droplets at Anders, freezing them in midair. "Enough of this. Leave her alone. Merrill knows what she's doing and she knows well the price if she missteps."

"Hawke, her actions don't affect only herself, surely you see that." Anders gestured angrily after brushing away the slushy drops of ale that hit him. "I don't understand how you, a mage, can turn a blind eye to the risk she poses."

"Why is it my responsibility? What about Carver? It's his _duty_ to watch over we untrustworthy mages, after all, bother _him_ about it. I believe she has a right to make her choices and live with the consequences, as we all do." Hawke poured a tankard of ale and took a deep pull.

Sebastian's mouth was pressed into a thin line. "We all would share some of the responsibility if the worst were to happen, if nothing else, for not alerting the templars." The archer glanced at Carver.

"I give each of you the same respect for your own choices. That she's a mage isn't entirely unique, and it doesn't make her more dangerous than anyone else at this table, really." Hawke waved a hand dismissively. "But enough of this, we're here to enjoy ourselves. Clearly we've not had enough to drink yet. Hold the cards, Aveline, who has played _never have I ever_?"

Hawke glanced around the table, waiting for answers. Varric shook his head ruefully and Isabela lit up, but no one said anything. "Fine. When it's your turn, you start by saying "never have I ever" and follow with something you've never done. Anyone who _has_ done said thing must take a drink. The penalty for lying is double shots, if anyone can prove it. Questions? Good. Varric, your turn, then pick someone to go after you."

"This is easy. Pour one for everyone, Hawke. Never have I ever played an honest game of diamondback."

Isabela's eyes flew wide and she slammed her palm on the table. "What? You cheat _every_ time? You sneaky little bastard!" Archu laid his ears back and added his protest to Isabela's.

Varric hurried to calm the mabari, "Settle down, boy, it's all in good fun. Think of how much more often you'd beat me if I didn't cheat." Archu barked happily and the dwarf grinned smugly. "And you almost never catch me, Rivaini. How embarrassing. Drink up, everyone."

Shots were poured and tossed back. Merrill choked and sputtered, and Sebastian made a face and reached for a tankard of ale to wash the taste of the cheap whiskey from his mouth. "That's more than a little rough. Allow me to buy the next bottle." Sebastian stood and left the room momentarily to procure a bottle of spirits more to his liking.

"Now I know why you invite Choir Boy, Hawke. Aveline. Let's see what you can come up with."

The redhead grinned and regarded Isabela while she considered her round. "This should be fun. Let's see... never have I ever slept with someone without knowing his name."

"Oh, good! No whiskey for me this time." Merrill chirped happily.

Hawke began filling glasses. "His or _her_ name, naturally. But you can't count carnivale, Aveline, that's just unfair. Who's drinking?"

"Way to save your own ass, Hawke," Isabela muttered under her breath.

"Please. Everyone would have to drink if we included carnivale, am I right?" A glance around the room confirmed the suspicion, "See? This way we actually learn something. Now, who needs a shot?"

Aveline smirked and didn't take her eyes off Isabela, who reached for a glass. When she realized she was being watched, she shrugged. "What? Is anyone surprised? Captain Man-hands there tailored this round just for me. Joke's on you, though. When have I ever _not_ wanted a drink?"

Sebastian returned carrying two dark amber bottles. "What did I miss?"

"Ever sleep with someone and not remember her name? Or _his_ name?" Isabela slid an empty jigger his way. "Unless you were wearing a mask and _they_ were too, this is for you, chantry boy." Sebastian smiled, but didn't get an opportunity to answer.

"With your past, I'm calling bullshit if you don't drink, Choir Boy. That's what you get for telling me stories." Varric opened one of Sebastian's bottles and poured the archer a shot.

Carver was smug that there was no glass in front of him. "What about you, dwarf?"

"Look, I won't say that it could never have happened, Junior, but if I don't remember it, I'm not counting it."

"Convenient," Carver remarked, "but if we let you off with that, I suppose we have to excuse Fenris also." The templar earned a murderous look from the elf and shrugged in response.

"Right you are. Sorry, Broody, I'm not letting you off the hook. Living at the Hanged Man does have certain... risks."

"So, Sebastian, Isabela, Varric, Fenris, unless he's claiming to have spent his entire life before getting those markings a virgin. Hawke?"

"No. One of my few standards. Anders needs a drink, though. Maybe two." Hawke gave the other mage a look, daring him to argue. "I'd say forgetting who you're in bed with and shouting out the _wrong_ name counts."

It took a moment for Hawke's words to sink in. As the full implications of the accusation dawned on the group, jaws dropped and Anders's face flushed red, though from anger or embarrassment was anyone's guess.

"Blondie, you didn't!" Varric said in disbelief. "Suddenly a lot of things make more sense. Ancestors, how are you not dead?" Varric received dark looks from both Hawke and Anders. The dwarf snapped his mouth shut and poured Anders the last shot from the bottle of rotgut.

"Enough stalling, drink up boys and whore." Aveline crossed her arms over her chest, clearly happy with herself. "I think I like this game, Hawke. Your turn next, fearless leader. I can't wait to see where this goes."

Hawked didn't hesitate. "Never have I ever tasted darkspawn blood."

A chorus of disgusted exclamations rose from around the table.

Anders silently agreed with them, but since he was obviously in line for a shot this round, the only one, he decided to fight back a little. "One of the few things Hawke _hasn't_ swallowed, I'd wager."

Hawke idly cleaned a fingernail and tiny arcs of electricity danced between the mage's fingers. "What was that? I didn't quite hear you, Anders."

Before the healer could open his mouth, Varric cut in. "Where'd you get your death-wish, Blondie? Hawke, please let him slink back to darktown before you butcher the sod, I don't need the mess."

Carver unexpectedly jumped to Anders's defense. "Come on, Varric, it's no secret that Hawke gets around. That question was a low blow and you know it."

Isabela stifled a giggle. Carver shot a glare in her direction before continuing. "We all know what a bloodbath any battle turns into. Swallowing a bit of blood, even darkspawn blood if you're immune to the taint, doesn't mean a Maker-damned thing. I'll drink this round with you, Anders, proudly. Gray wardens fight darkspawn all the time, and Anders did it at the side of the Hero of Ferelden himself!"

Hawke arched an eyebrow. "I hear the two of them might have _done it_ from a few other angles, too. I certainly know he wanted to. Did he ever give you the chance, Anders? I've been meaning to ask you for years."

"_That_ is none of anyone's business."

Hawke shrugged. "If anyone deserves to know, I think it's me. If I thought you'd answer honestly, I might make that my next question."

"Thankfully, you've wasted your turn on darkspawn blood." Anders sighed and accepted the shot poured for him. He mockingly raised his glass. "Hawke." Carver echoed the healer's motions, glaring at Hawke the whole time.

Hawke sighed, "Pity. Fenris, would you do the honors?"

"Happily. Forgive me for not sharing your curiosity, Hawke. I don't care to have any more knowledge of who the abomination beds than I already do. Never have I ever benefitted from blood magic."

"Oh-ho! Two shots for you, Fenris. Do I need to tell everyone why?" Hawke's grin was positively feral.

Fenris blanched. "It... isn't what I would choose if I had it to do again."

"Sadly, you don't and your regret won't save you from another shot, but I suppose _one_ shot will do if no one else objects. I do want the chance to lighten your coin purse tonight, can't do that if you can't hold your cards." Hawke began pouring a shot for everyone at the table.

Sebastian held up a hand, "Hold on, Hawke. I think you've had a few too many, yourself. I don't know what Fenris did to earn his whiskey this round, but I believe only Merrill deserves to join him."

Aveline corrected his count, "Since Malcolm was a blood mage, I think Hawke and Carver probably have to as well, technically."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you think? Anders, would you say it's fair to assume that without blood magic, the blight would not have ended in Denerim?"

Anders narrowed his eyes. Warden secrets weren't that precious to him, but he had to wonder how much Hawke knew, and from where. "Yes. Without it, the blight wouldn't have been stopped."

Aveline pushed the whiskey in front of her away."We had no choice about that, and honestly, I don't see how blood magic figures into it."

"Alright, how about the Tevinter Imperium? They protect the rest of Thedas from the Qunari. They couldn't do what they do without it." Hawke finished passing shots around the table.

Sebastian shook his head in denial. "That's too abstract."

"Oh, quit whining. It's one silly shot of whiskey, you big babies." Isabela leaned over the table to clink glasses with Merrill and tossed it back. "See? I'm grateful not to be overrun by darkspawn or Qunari, even if it means I benefitted from blood magic somewhere along the line."

Sebastian shook his head. "No, I'll not degrade myself to placate you, or even Hawke. If the rest of you would kindly take your medicine so we can move on? And, Anders, shouldn't you have a shot as well?"

Anders scowled. "I'm not drinking. Why do you assume I should?"

Before Sebastian could answer, Hawke interrupted with a cluck of the tongue. "Anders. I know what you did in Amaranthine. I had no idea you were so dishonest. _Everyone_, drink up, I'm getting bored."

Varric cleared his throat before Sebastian or Aveline could argue with Hawke's mandate yet again. He didn't like the idea of admitting to benefitting from blood magic either, but arguing with Hawke about it wasn't healthy. And the mage was discreet, but the dwarf had all but confirmed his suspicions years ago. "Maybe we should get on to wicked grace. If we keep this up, we'll all be on the floor before the first hand."

"Not yet." Hawke leaned back, away from the table. "I didn't want to do this, but you leave me no choice. All those whose asses I've pulled out of the fire with my pathetic excuses of healing spells at least once, raise a hand, please." All hands went up. "Good, now drink." Hawke set an example for them, but no one else raised a glass.

Aveline's jaw nearly hit the table, Fenris's lyrium began to faintly glow before he got himself under control, Varric shifted uncomfortably, Anders looked disgusted, Carver hid his head in his hands, and Sebastian looked like he'd been slapped in the face. Merrill giggled from behind her hand and Isabela openly enjoyed the reactions from around the table.

Sebastian was the first to speak. "Why, Hawke? How could you be so foolish, so arrogant, after all you've seen? And how could you deceive all of us?"

"_I_ knew." Merrill chirped. "And I think Varric and Isabella did, too. Right? And Fenris, unless he's grown a sudden soft spot for blood mages."

The elf's reply was terse and angry. "I didn't _know_, but one suspects blood magic of all mages unless one is a fool."

Anders ignored the dalish mage and the faintly glowing elf and glared bitterly, "What deal did you make for your power, Hawke?"

"I learned from my father, not a demon. He didn't tell me it was blood magic, only that I should never use it unless I had no other choice. That happens a lot, it turns out. I've known since the episode with Corypheus that it was straight up blood magic, and I admit I've learned a few tricks since then. But I've never hidden it. I don't have to because I'm not some twisted, power-hungry maniac."

"Says the confessed blood mage who is second only to Knight Commander Meredith in influence in all of Kirkwall, surpassing even the Viscount," Fenris sneered. "I need a drink."

Aveline had reached a decision. She quietly reached for her shot of whiskey and tossed it back. "I don't like it, but I trust you, Hawke. You've used it responsibly for years and if you didn't learn it from a demon, it's just a tool, no more dangerous than the wielder."

Hawke nodded in appreciation, but any reply was cut short by the exiled prince of Starkhaven. "Hawke, I'll be watching you."

"Don't you already?" Hawke smirked when the archer colored. "Enough stalling, everyone who hasn't yet, drink up. Or don't if it makes you feel too dirty. This is just a game, after all, no need to get your knickers in a bunch." Every shot was emptied, though not with good humor.

"Can I have a turn, now, Hawke? Or should I ask Fenris, since he went last?" Merrill looked from the human mage to the elf hopefully.

Fenris waved a hand, "Suit yourself."

"Oh, good! Never have I ever seen a baby griffin." Merrill waited expectantly.

Isabela cleared her throat. "Um, Kitten, you do know that there _are_ no griffins? So how could any of us have seen one?"

Merrill's face fell. "Oh. Well, I was hoping someone might have seen one and not thought to mention it. So, no one's drinking, then?"

"No, Merrill. No one's drinking." Hawke failed to hide an amused smile. The dalish woman was positively adorable.

Varric interrupted with an unhappy groan. "Oh, for the love of... Hawke, kindly keep Archu from gnawing the demonically possessed Table of Debauchery and Poor Judgement. He can have the Side Board of Incomplete Dreams if he needs a chew toy, that thing's human-made." The dwarf gestured over his shoulder to a comparatively spindley-looking table loaded with stacks of parchment, bottles of ink, and a multitude of quills.

Aveline patted Archu and returned her attention to the forgotten deck of cards. "He just wants an ale. Pour him a dish and he'll leave your Table of Gambling Debt Acquisition alone. Oh. Maker, that's... ugh. Archu, bad dog!"

Hawke laughed and shoved the war hound with a foot to disrupt Archu's perfectly-timed inappropriate attention to the table. "Oy, dog, have some dignity! See that? Only a powerful desire demon could make a proud war dog so mad with love for a lowly table leg.

Carver cocked his head. "Though, come to think of it, that table leg sort of does look a bit... doggy. I think I see why he's confused."

Hawke shrugged. "Sorry Varric. I didn't think anyone would notice the demons, and I figured our weekly get-togethers would satisfy the blighters."

"Oh, no! I'm so sorry I've been calling off. Is it my fault they're acting up? I'll never miss card night again." Merrill made a face and took a long pull from her untouched ale. "I'll even drink more, if that helps."

"Thank you, Merrill. We truly haven't been depraved enough lately. We'll have to double up on Thursdays, or better yet, everyone bring a friend next time. Especially you, Sebastian. It's time you pulled your weight."

"Oooh, yes, this is getting exciting," Isabela practically purred. She got a dreamy look on her face which was spoiled by a sudden realization, "Oh, wait, 'Thursdays' are just a joke. Damn. Not that I'm into the blood sacrifice and demons, but would you please start hosting orgies, Hawke?" Isabela was very obviously mentally undressing Fenris, who glowered darkly at her.

Fenris growled and set his tankard down with more force than necessary."Let's start with Wicked Grace and drinks. Hawke looks to be halfway under the Table of Self-Felicitation and we haven't played a single hand yet."

"I resent that, Fenris. I do _not_ self felicitate, especially not under an indecently short table that may harbor demons and definitely harbors the likes of _these_ misfits." A grand gesture included all who were seated around Varric's table. "I'll wager fifty silvers I can match you drink for drink from here on and _you'll_ be the one self felicitating under the table tonight." Hawke smirked, "Or maybe Isabela will be felicitating you, but you'll still be under the table."

"No using magic to rejuvenate yourself, and I'll take that bet." Fenris pried away the half-empty bottle Hawke had claimed and poured two jiggers, sliding one back to the mage. They raised glasses and drank together. "Let me see your silver, mage. I don't want you gambling it away."

"What? Who's the vagrant here? I should be demanding to see yours." Hawke slapped a hand on the table for emphasis. Isabela and Merrill, surprisingly, started giggling. Hawke joined in a beat late, and took it as a sign that it was a very poor bet to take. Fenris was several drinks behind, maybe as much as half a bottle. Rejuvenation worked wonders, but Hawke hadn't bothered to magic away the drunkenness since arriving at the Hanged Man. "Maker, that was a shit stupid bet. There will be no self felicitation on my watch, though." Hawke laughed and began counting out fifty silver, before counting that high became impossible.

"Someone remind me why _Hawke_ is the leader?" Even to himself, Anders sounded sullen, and the healer cringed inwardly.

"Because Hawke isn't afraid to own bad decisions, Blondie. Deal those cards already, Aveline. I want to win some of that coin before Hawke hits the deck."

_Author's Note:_

_Thank you for reading! This is a small introduction of a much larger story I've been working on for quite some time. This scene could take place within the story, but won't be officially included. If you liked this, sign up for author alerts to catch the rest of the story when it's posted. In collaboration with my good friend, Cross (not on fanfiction dot net), we've written a story spanning both games (and all expansions) and beyond. Our goal is to deepen the experiences of the games and fill in many of the blank spaces. (This scene written by LaughingTiger, beta-read by aforementioned Cross.)_


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